


something borrowed

by andnowforyaya



Category: B.A.P, K-pop
Genre: Alcohol, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Same-Sex Marriage, junhong/other, past!younglo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-13 11:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2149665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andnowforyaya/pseuds/andnowforyaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Youngjae gets an invitation to his ex's wedding.</p><p>Well, he can't show up empty-handed, can he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The invitation in his hands is mocking him in its absurdity. Of course Junhong would let his soon-to-be partner in life and death take the reigns on this one. When they’d been together, Junhong hadn't been the sort for romantic overtures or fancy dates. Maybe now that Junhong's a real model with an agent and double-bookings, he's trying to change it up and add some sophistication to his life. Youngjae can imagine him sulking around the waiting room as his partner gushes about color schemes with the head caterer, Junhong’s long legs as he leans against the wall. Junhong’s sheepish grin when he knocks over the fake display cake.

The invitation is slate grey with accents of white and pink, a little bowtie in the upper righthand corner and the details of the event in silver in the center.

The wedding is only a few weeks away. It feels a bit like Junhong forgot or neglected to invite him, and that maybe his fiance and/or Himchan annoyed him about it until he caved.

Youngjae totally acknowledges that a few weeks ago, he was probably in a bad place to be receiving this invitation. He’d just gotten laid off and the guy he was sleeping with at the time had peaced, and he’d probably gained about ten pounds from stress- and comfort-eating.

 _Now,_ though.

Now, he’s in a much better place. He's got some freelance work under his belt and a couple of bigger jobs on the horizon. Also, like, he and Junhong had broken up _two and a half years ago_. If he can’t get over someone in that amount of time, he’s doomed forever.

.

He’s doomed forever.

Himchan comes over and lets himself into Youngjae’s apartment and gently slaps him awake, little lovepats on his cheek until Youngjae is batting his hands away, grumbling and cursing with his hair flat on one side and crazy on the other. He blinks the crust from his eyes and Himchan is standing there with his hands on his hips looking immaculate in a crisp white button-up and fitted slacks and a skinny tie.

“Fuck,” Youngjae hisses, voice sounding like he’s eating a handful of sawdust. After last night, he can’t be sure. “Is the wedding today?”

Himchan rolls his eyes. “No, Youngjae. It’s in three weeks. Jesus, what’s wrong with you? When did you get home last night?”

“I don’t know,” Youngjae groans, rolling back over into bed and covering his face with his blanket. The sun is too bright and it feels like there are tiny hammers inside of his skull trying to build a cage for his brain.

“Was it around the time you called me and said -- and I quote -- “Fuck Junhong and fuck his wedding. I don’t need to go to that misguided attempt at matrimony. Love fucking sucks.”

“I did not say that,” Youngjae hisses.

“You most certainly did.” There’s a pause, and then Youngjae’s unmistakable voice coming out of Himchan’s phone, a little tinny, but definitely his.

“You recorded me!” Youngjae accuses, flipping down the covers to glare at Himchan properly and then immediately regretting it as the sun stabs his eyes.

“I didn’t. It’s a message. You were screaming into my voicemail.”

“You didn’t even _pick up_.” Youngjae pouts.

“It was _three in the morning_ ,” Himchan says. “What were you doing out at three in the morning, anyway? Alone? Were you with anyone?”

“Yes, mom,” Youngjae says, biting back a snarl.

“Who?”

Youngjae honestly struggles to remember. He knows he went out with someone. He just can’t really remember who. They got separated halfway through the night, and then he was with someone else. Someone with really warm hands and a nice laugh and eyes that crinkled up when he smiled. Someone that brought Youngjae back to his apartment and made sure he got into bed and didn’t try anything funny. His brain short-circuits.

“Jongup,” he says.

Himchan shakes his head. “Noooo, Jongup was with _me_. Don’t lie to me.”

“Jaebum?” Youngjae tries again, and Himchan squints at him.

“Will Jaebum be able to verify?”

“Why are you suddenly the police?”

Himchan sags, the air rushing out of his lungs. He sits on the very edge of Youngjae’s bed and puts his hand on the covers right over Youngjae’s ass. It’s okay. They have a very close relationship so they can do things like this without it being weird. “I’m just worried about you, man. You’ve been acting really strange lately? Is this about Junhong’s wedding? I know you’re, like, scrambling around for a date to bring but this is probably not the way to go about it--”

“What makes you think this is about Junhong’s wedding?”

Himchan presses play on his phone again, and Youngjae’s voice screams out from his speakers: “Fuck Junhong and fuck his wedding. I don’t--”

“Okay!” Youngjae shouts, pain stabbing behind his eyes, but it hurts more to think that he’d been such a wreck last night. “Sorry. Yes. It might be a little bit about Junhong’s wedding and Junhong finding a guy he wants to marry and Junhong moving on with his life and little old me, left behind, as usual.”

“No one’s leaving you behind,” Himchan says, accentuating it with two taps on Youngjae’s ass. “And you don’t have to come to the wedding, you know.”

“I do,” Youngjae insists. “I have to go and I have to prove to Junhong that I’m okay. That he didn’t fuck me up. I have to prove it to _myself_.”

Himchan’s eyebrows shoot up. “Okay,” he says. “I know you’ve really been into the romance novels lately, but I don’t really think it works like--”

“Just! I do!”

Himchan falls silent, and then he nods. “Fine. Now get your ass up. You said you’d come with me to get my tux fitted.”

Youngjae rolls over and screams into his pillow.

.

Himchan is Fancy. He’s the kind of guy who has a collection of cufflinks that he can actually sort through and be picky about on special occasions.

Youngjae has two suits and the rest of his closet can probably be described as ‘librarian chic’ and he’s partial to tees that fit across his broad chest and jeans rolled up at his ankles and sunglasses because he’s usually hungover.

Whatever. They’re from different walks of life. Youngjae is a photographer, and Himchan is a junior associate at a financial firm downtown. One day, Youngjae will use their amazing relationship to get Himchan to open a gallery for him, but that’s a long time down their friendship road.

For now, he sits on the little circular couch in the waiting area of the suit store (“He’s my _tailor_ , Youngjae,” Himchan tells him with a little shake of his head) and tries not to fall asleep.

It doesn’t work. He totally falls asleep. The open-mouthed, drool at the corners of his lips kind of sleep where he snorts a little when he’s shaken awake, and yet again he wonders why Himchan even bothers taking him out in public anymore. His friend tsks at him and pays for his suit and the tailor gives Youngjae a look of faint disgust before they are out the door.

“You didn’t even help,” Himchan grumbles. “You just snored.”

“I’m sorry,” Youngjae says sincerely. “Look at how sorry I am.”

“You look the same as you always look. Ugh, why am I friends with you.”

“Because everyone else thinks you’re a rich douchebag,” Youngjae says, keeping in step with Himchan, looking down at their feet. Even their shoes tell such different stories. Youngjae’s in flip-flops because it’s the weekend and who cares, but Himchan’s got on these really nice leather shoes, shiny and sleek and --

Youngjae crashes into someone, trips over his own flip-flops, and ends with his elbows banged up and his face pressed into the intimate space between someone’s legs.

“Woah,” that someone says. “I’m easy but I’m not _that_ easy.”

“Fuck,” Youngjae manages, embarrassed and bruised, scrambling to stand up. There are bags everywhere with apples spilling out, and oranges, and other various foods that Youngjae should eat more of instead of Chinese take-out and leftover Chinese take-out. A few stalks of celery have met their demise on the pavement. He reaches down to help the guy up while Himchan snickers at a close range, extremely unhelpfully. “I’m so sorry. I’m super clumsy. I should have watched where I was going. Are you okay? Did you lose anything? You had so many things in your hands--”

“Aw,” the guy says. “My sausage.”

Youngjae finally blinks and takes a good look. The voice sounds familiar. It belongs to a guy who looks about Youngjae’s age, with big eyes and full lips and skin the color of Youngjae’s favorite brand of dulce de leche ice cream. “Your what?”

“I just got them from the butcher,” he says, frowning. He swoops back down and picks up a package wrapped in brown paper, tied in string and leaking in some spots. “I think they’ll be okay,” he says mournfully, beginning to put things back into their bags.

Then he smiles up at him. His eyes crinkle up when he smiles, and it twists at Youngjae’s gut. Not an unpleasant sort of twist. The kind that feels a bit like you’ve taken the bait and someone is pulling you in. “Oh,” Youngjae breathes.

“Anyway, I don’t want to keep you,” the guy says. “It’s fine. I’ll just pack everything up again...oh. It’s you.”

“Me,” Youngjae repeats stupidly.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling again, pointing. He mimes drinking something. “From last night? Man, you were _so_ wasted. I’m surprised you made it out this morning, even.”

Heat spills into Youngjae’s cheeks. Himchan is laughing silently at the side, by the buildings. He sends silent curses his way, but this is his link to last night. Maybe this guy saw who brought him home.

“Were you there late? Was there someone there who...took me home?” It feels foolish asking. This guy is going to think Youngjae is incapable of taking care of himself, a drunk.

“Uh,” he says, cheeks tinged pink, too. It’s a good look on him. Actually, the more he looks at him, the more things about him Youngjae is starting to find attractive. The fullness of his lips and his ever-present pout. The little freckle underneath his eye. “Well, I closed up the bar, so yeah. I was there pretty late.”

“Oh, you’re the bartender? Why didn’t you cut me off?” Youngjae accuses.

The other man stands, hefting a big paper bag into his arms with two more plastic bags hooked at the crooks of his elbows, and then he grins at Youngjae, cat-like. Youngjae’s heart skips a couple beats in his chest. “You really don’t remember? Man, you really _were_ out of it, then. I _did_ stop serving you after a while, but you kept getting drinks from other people. I kind of tried keeping an eye out for you, especially when your friend left? You passed out for a bit. It took forever to get an address out of you. I had to pray that the one on your license was the right one.”

“ _You_ took me home?” Youngjae nearly screeches, which is of course when Himchan decides to swoop back into the conversation, startling them both.

“Youngjae, we’re supposed to be meeting people for lunch,” Himchan lies, elbowing Youngjae in the gut in what is not a discrete manner at all. “Who’s your friend?”

“We’re not friends,” Youngjae and the stranger say at the same time.

Youngjae blushes again, but the other guy just shrugs. “I’m Daehyun,” he says to Himchan, shifting the bag so he can hold out a hand. “I run the bar where your friend here got trashed last night.”

Himchan shakes his hand. “Himchan,” he says. “Can you wait for a second?”

Daehyun’s eyebrows knit together but he doesn’t leave when Himchan hooks an arm around Youngjae’s shoulder, turns them both around, and draws their faces close together so that he can whisper into Youngjae’s ear: “He’s a great contender. Good-looking. Not a creep.”

“A great contender for what?” Youngjae whispers back.

“To bring to the wedding with you as a fake boyfriend to make Junhong believe you’re doing _so great_ without him?”

“Why don’t _you_ bring him to the wedding, if you want to pinch his ass so badly?”

“I’m bringing Yongguk,” Himchan says, “And no one will believe you if you say you’re with Jongup. You’d totally sleep with this guy. He’s definitely your type.”

“I have other friends I can bring,” Youngjae defends, but Himchan just gives him a look. He has no other friends he can bring. Not acceptable ones, anyway.

“Youngjae,” Himchan whispers. “He’s a solid B-plus, A-minus.”

Youngjae sighs and nods, and Himchan grins in triumph.

He turns back around and Daehyun is still standing there, shifting back and forth on his heels and toes, looking confused but still really endearingly so. He’s just _waiting_ there, like a puppy on a leash. Oh, man.

“So,” Youngjae starts, and Daehyun perks up. “I know I just crashed into you and probably ruined your entire day, but I have a favor I’d like to ask of you.”

.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Youngjae presses the ‘RSVP!’ button on the wedding site and cringes at the little bell that sounds to alert him that his response has been submitted. Now he can’t take it back. Now he’s ‘Yoo Youngjae, and guest’ and he’ll have to mosey about the ceremony and reception with Daehyun on his arm.

Jeez, he doesn’t even know anything about the guy other than he works at a bar and goes around the city carrying ridiculous amounts of groceries and is kind of genuinely nice since he also brought Youngjae home when he was black-out drunk and has a really great smile that lights up his whole face, but _also_.

Also. How nice can he be if he agrees to be Youngjae’s fake boyfriend for money? Like, is this something he does often, with other people? Does he do favors for money? Does he have a money problem? Does he gamble?

Youngjae falls face-first back into bed and wills his brain to stop going down this ridiculous tangent. They haven’t even hammered out the terms of their agreement; Daehyun had wanted some time to consider and said he’d get in touch soon with more details. It sounded very business-like. Like he’d done this sort of thing before.

Youngjae grinds his teeth and thinks about the bottle of white wine in his fridge. It’s much too early in the day to be considering it, but here he is, considering it. He doesn’t have to head into the studio for another two hours. He could do a glass, right?

Just when he’s about to drag his body out of bed and attempt to get his day started, though, his phone buzzes with a call.

An actual _call_. Who even calls anymore?

Well, other than Youngjae, apparently, when he’s drunk out of his mind.

Daehyun’s name flashes across the screen, and he picks up, still flat on his belly on the mattress and rubbing his temples.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Daehyun greets him. He’s only met him twice, and still Youngjae can picture the way whiskers would form on his cheeks at the bright smile accompanying his words.

“It is way too early for anyone to be this happy,” Youngjae grumbles into the phone.

“Aw,” Daehyun says. “Are you still in bed?”

“I might be.”

“Youngjae, it’s like. Eleven o’clock.”

“Some people like to sleep in,” he says, not quite sure why he feels the need to defend himself.

“So you like to sleep in,” Daehyun muses aloud. He sounds far away. There’s background noise on his side, just a constant hissing that would probably freak Himchan out because he’s sensitive about weird noises like that.

“What are you doing? I can’t really hear you clearly.”

“Oh,” Daehyun says. Something clinks. The hissing stops. “Sorry, is that better? I was cooking.” A pause. “Do you cook?”

“I microwave,” Youngjae admits, unsure where this is going. Daehyun laughs and something about it makes Youngjae’s chest constrict like when he went out to visit Jeju-do for the first time and found the ocean there absolutely breathtaking.

“That’s a shame,” Daehyun says lightly. “I love cooking. Well, I love eating. But cooking is tied to it. And I love, like, making food for people? And eating with people? I don’t know, it’s just--”

“Did you think about what I said?” Youngjae interrupts, because the image of that RSVP button being pressed is playing over and over in his mind. Along with the sound of that damned bell.

“Oh, yeah.” Daehyun hums, and it seems like a habit. “A bit. Actually, I was calling because I wanted to see if you were free tonight? You know, so we can go over the details. Also so we can get to know each other. Isn’t that kind of important? If you want to pretend I’m your fake-boyfriend and all. Like, how long have we been fake-dating? How did we meet? What’s our story? When we cuddle, who’s the big--”

“Slow down, dude,” Youngjae interrupts again, starting to get a sense of Daehyun’s speech patterns. This guy can talk.

Abruptly, Daehyun shuts his mouth on the other end, and Youngjae is met with silence. Then, Daehyun breathes into the phone, like he can’t help but make noise.

“I’m free tonight after seven. Just text me where you want to meet. Okay?”

“What do you like?” Daehyun asks him.

“What?” Youngjae rolls over in bed and considers his ceiling. He should put up some new pictures on his walls. His tiny closet of an apartment is getting a little dusty and in need of some rearranging. Despite his trials from earlier this morning, he’s already in a better mood.

“To eat? What do you like to eat?”

“Um,” Youngjae says, chewing on his lips. “I don’t know. Anything. No seafood.”

“Got it. Anything but seafood. What if I eat all the seafood? Like, pick it out for you? Would you eat it then? I’m trying to get at whether you don’t like the actual seafood or you don’t like the flavor.”

“Oh, my god,” Youngjae breathes, exasperated, but he can feel a tiny smile make its way onto his face. “Are you being ridiculous on purpose?”

“I should know these little things about you!” Daehyun insists. “If we’ve been together for a while. At the wedding, if they serve seafood, I should know, like, if I’m supposed to say, _oh, babe, just give me all the scallops_ , or _take that away and give him some steak, for god’s sake._ ”

“First of all,” Youngjae says. “Don't call me babe. Second, I’m perfectly capable of saying both of those things myself. I don’t need you to say those things for me.”

“So you’re the big spoon,” Daehyun says.

“ _Oh my god._ ”

“Kidding!” Daehyun says, laughing again. “Kidding. I know like, same-sized spoons and all fit together better anyway. Mutual respect and equality and I tell you things and you tell me things and we work things out like adults.”

“I’ll see you tonight,” Youngjae manages to say, and he can barely keep his smile from splitting his face right in two.

“Seven. Seafood restaurant. Done.”

“Daehyun!”

“Joke! It’s a joke! No seafood, I promise.”

Youngjae’s laughing when he hangs up the phone.

.

He asks Youngjae to meet him at a local barbecue joint, which really takes the pressure off of things -- Youngjae’s dressed too casually for any restaurant serving three-star plates, and barbecue is always good because it’s socially acceptable to go hard on beer and soju.

Daehyun’s already there in a seat near the back, and he waves him over, standing. Youngjae swallows, because otherwise he thinks he’d just about drool. Daehyun’s wearing these dark jeans that hug his thighs and the shape of his knees and a white v-neck that is rather thin, the tone of his skin nearly visible underneath it.

Youngjae goes over, and they both sit and Daehyun flashes him that smile. “I know you said you can order for yourself,” Daehyun begins, sheepish. “But I -- got hungry. But you can still order? I only got, like, snacks and stuff. Not main course stuff. I wanted to wait to grill anything with you.”

“It’s fine,” Youngjae says, putting his camera bag on the seat next to him. “Besides, this way we can get straight to eating? Which is like your number one favorite thing in the world, right?”

“Ha,” Daehyun says, shifting a bit in his seat. He unscrews the top of the bottle of soju at his elbow and pours two healthy shots, right off the bat. “You remembered. That’s sweet.”

“You only mentioned it, like, twenty times this morning.”

“Anyway,” Daehyun says, apropos nothing. He passes Youngjae a shot. “You look really nice.”

Youngjae takes the shot with both hands. “Oh, this? I just threw it on. My closet is all jeans and rumpled shirts, anyway.”

“Well,” Daehyun says. “It’s a good look.” His eyes positively twinkle, and Youngjae flushes.

“Oh,” he mumbles. “Thanks.”

Daehyun grins again and holds his glass up. “Cheers! To fake boyfriends!”

“Dude,” Youngjae hisses as he takes the shot. “Not so loud.”

Daehyun hiccups and giggles and covers his mouth with his hand and soju sloshes over the side of his glass. “Oh, sorry. Sorry -- I also might have. Had a couple of drinks while waiting. The ahjumma here is _so nice_. Whenever I come in she’s always fussin’. Let’s start over. Pretend you just sat down. And I’m not, like, rudely eating and drinking in front of you.”

Youngjae sighs and wonders at his own patience. Is it because Daehyun is handsome that he isn’t as irritated as he should be? Daehyun looks at him with a little kitten grin and Youngjae rolls his eyes and plays along. “Fine. Oh, hey, Daehyun. Were you waiting long?”

“Nah,” Daehyun says, pleased, his cheeks glowing. “I just got here. How was your day?”

“It was okay. Some guy called me at an unreasonable hour this morning before my first cup of coffee and tried having a conversation with me and then I went over to the studio and now I’m here.”

“Eleven o’clock is not an unreasonable time to call someone! It’s usually like, waking hours? People are usually awake then.” Daehyun squints at Youngjae. “What do you do at the studio?”

“I’m a photographer,” Youngjae says, pointing at his bag. “I shoot pictures. Sometimes people even pay me for them.” He feels the burn of alcohol coursing through him slowly.

“What kinds of pictures?” Daehyun stuffs some of the side dishes into his mouth. He chews on one side with his cheek puffed out like a squirrel.

“Usually models. It’s like, indie fashion?”

“ _You_ shoot for indie fashion?” Daehyun asks, his mouth full, and Youngjae frowns at him. “I mean -- I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean it’s cool? How do you even get into that industry? How did you get into it?”

Youngjae sighs again and is about to go into his whole speech about discovering art in high school and studying design in college and being introduced into the indie fashion scene through friends and it’s not that he’s really interested in the fashion himself, but what the designers want to say with their work, what the models think about the work, etc., when Daehyun tips dangerously to the right and has to catch himself on the table. He grins up at Youngjae again.

“You’re drunk,” Youngjae says instead, smiling.

“I’m not. I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you in case this information ever comes up in my interactions with your friends as your fake boyfriend.”

“You’re also drunk,” Youngjae says again, noticing now the other soju bottle at the end of the table, empty.

“Okay,” Daehyun says. “I will admit that I am on just the other side of tipsy. But that’s not the point. The point is! The point is I’m trying to figure out how to be your fake boyfriend. Because there should be rules. And stuff.”

Youngjae sits back in his seat and tries not to feel charmed. He blames it on the alcohol. Despite drinking, like, _all the time_ , his tolerance is pathetic. “Rules,” he repeats, quirking an eyebrow.

Daehyun gasps.

“Hold on,” Daehyun says. “Let’s order first.”

.

They don’t talk about rules. They order beef and pork for the grill in between them and Daehyun gets right to work, putting the meat on the slats and fanning and turning the pieces when the char is just right, all while getting Youngjae to talk more about himself than he has in what feels like years.

It should feel -- awkward. But it doesn’t. Daehyun has a way of pulling the information out of him that doesn’t seem forced, makes Youngjae think about his answers before giving them, makes Youngjae dig past the rote responses he usually gives for something more meaningful.

It’s nice talking about himself. He doesn’t usually.

It’s nice laughing and sharing stories and not thinking about Junhong and it’s kind of like Daehyun is taking his hand and helping him step back from his life, for just a tiny moment, and consider everything.

“So why do you have to wait for Himchan?” Daehyun asks him, chin propped in his palm and his other hand busy with his chopsticks, picking meat off the grill and onto Youngjae’s plate. “Why can’t you just -- find a place that will display your work? Get a feel for it?”

“I don’t know.” Youngjae shrugs, feels his shoulders dip. “It just feels important that it’s my own place. My own terms. It’s probably stupid -- I’m not even that great. It’s the pie in the sky.”

“...the moon?” Daehyun guesses, and Youngjae shakes his head, grinning.

“You know -- the pie in the sky. My big unreachable goal? My dream of opening my own gallery.”

“I’ve never heard that expression before. Also, I don't think it's unreachable, but I _do_ think you should consider smaller galleries to show your work before you go for the big guns. Here, try.” Daehyun holds up a little food package of meat and kimchi and dipping sauce in a lettuce wrap, perfectly bite sized, and Youngjae leans over so he can take it from his fingers with his teeth. He ends up taking the whole piece, tipping back so he can get it all in one bite. Daehyun laughs. “Good?”

It takes a moment for Youngjae to regain control of his mouth, but then he says, “Wow, it’s like. It’s like I know exactly what’s in there and I’ve made it so many times myself but it’s _so much better_? How is that possible?”

“Probably because someone made it for you,” Daehyun says, busying himself with making another wrap.

“What about you?” Youngjae asks, clarifying when Daehyun raises an eyebrow at him. “I mean, what’s your pie in the sky? Your unattainable dream?”

“I wouldn’t call it unattainable,” Daehyun says. “I want to open up another restaurant.”

“Oh, what kind?”

“Seafood,” Daehyun says, eyes crinkling when Youngjae gives him his best affronted face. “Ha, no. Just, home cooking? Nothing fancy. What your mom cooks for you, and all that. I lived in Busan for a while, so the cuisine is just a little bit different from here in Seoul.”

“That sounds really nice.” Youngjae smiles at him. He feels fuzzy and warm and Daehyun’s skin is glowing something beautiful under the harsh lights. Underneath the table, their ankles brush together. Youngjae jumps.

The soju is mostly gone, and reality snaps back to him.

“Didn’t you want to talk about our agreement?”

Daehyun straightens in his seat and frowns and bites his bottom lip and sighs. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I did.”

“Well?” Youngjae prompts, chest tight and head spinning. He thought they’d been having a nice time, but Daehyun was just being really thorough in gathering information, wasn’t he? “I told you what I needed you for, so what do you need from me?”

“First of all,” Daehyun begins, tone changing. “Your terms are kind of shit. All you said was, ‘I need you to come with me as my fake boyfriend to my ex’s wedding; I’ll do whatever you want.’ Like, that really opens you up? To a lot of things that could be really bad. What if I want an exorbitant amount of money? What if I want dirty pictures? What if--”

“Okay, my stupidity aside,” Youngjae interrupts again, the haze of happiness from moments before quickly disappearing. “What is it you want in return for your escort-like services?”

“Well,” Daehyun says slowly, and Youngjae braces himself. This late in the game, Daehyun’s probably his last chance at bringing someone acceptable to the wedding who will turn a few heads -- especially Junhong’s. “I want to be able to take you out so I can get to know you more. You know, so we can get our story straight, and so we can act more naturally, like we’ve been together for a while, at the ceremony.”

He stops and doesn’t continue. Youngjae purses his lips, suspicious. “That’s it?”

Daehyun blinks at him. “And, like, three hundred bucks? Give or take. For the dinners and drinks and also I’ll have to get my suit taken in, I think. But you can give it to me after the job is done.”

Youngjae nods. That’s reasonable, he thinks. He’s never actually hired an escort or dating service before, so it’s not like he has anything for comparison.

“Oh, and can I kiss you?” Daehyun asks.

Youngjae feels the heat return to his cheeks and looks down at the table, mindful of how close their ankles are under the table. “To make it believable?” he mumbles.

“Sure,” Daehyun says with a cheerful little bounce in his seat. “Definitely once in front of your ex at the wedding reception. Maybe a few times before so we can get the hang of it.”

He thinks about kissing Daehyun as they’re getting the check. Daehyun takes it -- “I’ll need the receipt to keep track of how much you’re paying me at the end.” -- and Youngjae tries not to wonder if this had been an actual date, how it would have ended.

They stand outside of the restaurant, about to part ways, and Youngjae hoists his camera bag higher up on his shoulder, needing the weight to ground him. Out here, in the twinkling lights of Seoul’s night scene, Daehyun seems radiant.

“So, the terms are good?” Daehyun asks, lips curled up in a hint of a smile.

“Yeah,” Youngjae says, his mouth dry.

“I’ll see you soon, then.” His voice is soft. Daehyun takes a step forward, and Youngjae panics.

He holds up his fist, heart fluttering in his throat, and Daehyun stares at it.

“Oh,” Daehyun says, and bumps his fist against Youngjae’s.

“See you,” Youngjae squeaks, mortified that just happened, but Daehyun just laughs again.

Daehyun brings him in for a hug, anyway. His body is wonderful, solid warmth, and Youngjae could sink into it if he held on for a moment longer, but he doesn’t. “Have a good night,” Daehyun whispers into his ear.

He pulls away. Youngjae shivers.

It’s less than three weeks to the wedding.

.


	3. Chapter 3

He should have known Daehyun would be the type to include emoji in every text. Over the past couple of days, Daehyun’s sent over at least a hundred messages, mostly questions, mostly phrased, “Thing A or Thing B?”

Youngjae’s responded to them all, snickering at how Daehyun reacts to his answers, and by now he’s pretty sure he’s told Daehyun his entire life story up until the age of twenty-three, which is when he and Junhong called it quits. (“Calling it quits” is phrasing it nicely. Youngjae remembers feeling like he went through the five stages of grief in the condensed span of one hour after Junhong told him, with most of the next two years of his life spent teetering between stages two, three, and four: Anger, Bargaining, and Depression.)

Daehyun texts: _sorry :(_

Youngjae sighs down at his phone in his hand. He’s at the studio on a small break, squished into one of the stairwells while the set designers prep the next shot.

_it’s okay. i just don’t like talking about it._

_well,_ Daehyun texts, his phone buzzing. _he’s an idiot for leaving you. but now i get to be your fake boyfriend :D_

Youngjae stares at the message, feeling a pang in his chest. He quashes it down, setting his phone aside to fiddle with the lens on his camera. When it buzzes again, the vibrations echo off the walls in the small enclosed space, making the message seem bigger than it is.

He reaches down and reads what Daehyun sent, chewing on his bottom lip.

_you know you can ask me any questions you want, too._

Youngjae considers it; he really does. He wants to know what it was like growing up in Busan. He wants to know what Daehyun’s favorite thing to cook is. He wants to know how he takes his coffee, and if he’s the kind of guy who talks through movies. If he’s a dog person or a cat person. If he had a do-over for anything in his life, would he take it, and what would it be?

 _it’ll make our story better~_ , Daehyun texts next, when he receives no response from Youngjae, and that’s just it, isn’t it?

Youngjae can’t ask him the questions he wants to ask him because then he’ll get attached, and if he’s being perfectly honest with himself, he doesn’t think he’s ready for that, with anyone, especially someone whom he’s paying to spend one measly night with. Two and a half years is a long time, but for Youngjae it passed by like a blip in a machine, and he can’t believe he still feels like his heart is wrenched out of his chest and stomped upon every time someone mentions Junhong or talks about love or dating or _happiness_ , really.

Junhong was his chance at happiness. He made him _so happy_ , and then he was gone.

Okay, it didn’t quite happen like that. They’d been drifting for a good year or so, and their interests had started to diverge. They didn’t want the same things anymore. Neither were ready to settle, but Youngjae had honestly thought Junhong had at least remained interested in him.

That, obviously, was not the case.

It hurt to hear -- still hurts to hear -- Junhong tell him that loving Youngjae felt more and more like something he had to tick off on his checklist everyday. More and more like a chore.

Youngjae supposes he’s just not exciting enough for someone like Junhong. So what makes him think he’ll be exciting enough for someone like Daehyun?

Youngjae sighs, and the soft noise reverberates in the stairwell. He sends, _maybe it’s best i don’t know too much about you._

Daehyun sends him: _:(_

And that’s it for a little while. Soon enough, the other staff are calling Youngjae back into the studio. _sorry,_ he texts. _back to work for me_.

_we’re still on for dinner tonight, right?_

_of course._

_okay~ see you later. have a good day!!_

He stands and slips his phone into his back pocket, and steps through the door into the studio.

.

“You want to split a bottle?” Daehyun asks him when they sit down at one of the tables near the back. Dinner this time around is a small Italian restaurant in the middle of Sinsa-dong, a trendy little neighborhood that Youngjae’s friends tend to frequent but he himself does not. The lights in the restaurant cast a warm glow over the diners and staff, and the tables are spaced far enough apart that Youngjae can’t overhear the conversations going on to his left and to his right. In a word, it’s intimate.

“I could go for a bottle.” Youngjae looks around, taking in the tasteful, minimal decor. The hostess had given them menus but he sees a large chalkboard on the wall opposite, listing out the day’s specials. “Nice place.”

Daehyun grins. He’s hunched over the menu in a grey long-sleeved shirt pushed up to his elbows. He has studs in his ears that Youngjae never noticed before, black and silver lines of metal.

Youngjae thinks he’s done something with his eyes, too. Youngjae knows his fair share of men who wear make-up on occasion -- he’s in fashion and photography, after all -- but the only person he knows who wears it out casually in public is Himchan, and that’s because he’s Himchan. Daehyun’s lashline looks fuller, darker, and his eyes gleam bright and big in the dim lighting.

“I’ve always wanted to -- eat here,” Daehyun says, smile faltering for just a moment.

“Were you going to say something else?”

“No, I -- I mean. I was just going to say I’ve always wanted to _take_ someone here.” Daehyun’s eyes drop back down to the menu, and he shifts in his seat. His foot taps Youngjae’s leg and Youngjae inhales, exhales, slow and smooth. “Their pasta is at least trying to mimic the original. It’s not like that weird soupy alfredo you can get by Yonsei, you know?”

“So, what would you recommend?”

“I thought you didn’t like people to order for you?”

Youngjae shrugs, leaning forward onto the table. Daehyun hasn’t stopped smiling since he saw him waiting outside of the restaurant, and it’s contagious. “I’m out of my league here. I don’t really eat Italian that often? I trust you to make a good choice.”

Daehyun puts the menu up before him and leans on it, masking half of his face behind the stiff material. His eyes crinkle up; Youngjae knows he’s smiling. “Hmm,” he hums, and then ducks completely behind it, presumably to look for a good dish for Youngjae.

Youngjae rolls his eyes, and then he kicks him under the table.

“Ow!” Daehyun’s black hair pops up and he reemerges like a gopher, glaring. “What was that for?”

“You don’t have to keep it a secret. Or try to be cute about it.”

“Ah,” Daehyun says triumphantly, putting the menu down. “So you don’t like it when your boyfriend acts cute?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But. You think I’m cute.”

“I also definitely did not say that.”

Daehyun’s smile is brighter than the lights of this room, and warms him more than hot chocolate in the middle of winter. He feels rosy heat in his cheeks and wonders if he’s smiling just as big, too. The other man opens his mouth to say something, but that’s when their waitress swings by the table.

Daehyun turns to her and says a bunch of words that Youngjae doesn’t catch, probably because they’re all in a different language, and Youngjae has the chance to admire the smooth expanse of his neck stretching from his jawline to his collarbone, the curved vein there, his pulse fluttering at his throat. His eyes snap up when Daehyun turns back to him, sure that he was caught staring.

But Daehyun just says, “I hope the wine pairs up well with the pastas. I guess we’ll see. You won’t hate me forever if it’s totally ruined, will you?”

Youngjae probably couldn’t hate him if he tried, but that’s -- that’s not something he should say, right now. “Only until dessert,” he says with a practiced smirk.

There’s music playing overhead at a low volume, something jazzy and sweet. Daehyun’s got his chin propped up in his palm leaning into it, and it takes a moment for Youngjae to realize that they’ve both fallen silent.

Silence from Daehyun is something totally new. He’s used to the bubbly chatterbox who asks a million questions a minute and isn’t sure what to make of the way Daehyun’s staring at him, lips slightly parted.

“Speaking of wine,” Youngjae begins, licking his lips and grasping for any strand of conversation. “Are you part-time at the bar? Both times you’ve taken me out have been for dinners, which is the beginning of prime bar time. Unless your schedule just works out that way…?”

He trails off, looking back up at Daehyun, and now Youngjae is very much not sure what to make of Daehyun’s expression: eyebrows slanting toward each other and lips in a pout and confusion in his eyes.

“Or, something...?” His voice goes high at the end. He clears his throat, and Daehyun makes a noise like, “ _Huh._ ”

“Huh, what?”

“I’m not part-time at the bar,” Daehyun says, sitting up a little straighter, just as their wine arrives. The waitress offers the tasting glass to Daehyun, and Daehyun swirls, looks, smells, and sips without much ceremony before nodding at her and thanking her. She fills two glasses and leaves the bottle by the lit candle in the center of the table. “I’m not part-time at the bar,” he continues. “I _own_ the bar, and I’ve got enough staff so that I can kind of make my own schedule, if you will.”

“Whaaaaaat?” Youngjae exhales, his mouth falling open. He snaps it shut quickly, feeling wronged. “You’re the bartender, though! You tended the bar.”

Daehyun grins and shakes his head. “I never said I was a bartender, although sometimes I do step in on busy nights.”

“You never corrected me! You let me assume all this time that you were just a bartender.” He doesn’t know why he’s making such a big deal about this, except that it feels like a lie. Maybe he’s being irrational, maybe not.

“ _Just_ a bartender,” Daehyun mutters. “Please. My guys work really hard, okay? They’re not _just_ anything. And I didn’t correct you because--”

He pauses, deflates, and fiddles with one the forks on his right on the table.

“Because what?” Youngjae presses. Daehyun’s smile is gone; he wants an explanation, and then he wants it back.

Daehyun sighs, blowing his fringe from his face. “Because I’m young, and inexperienced, and whenever people find out it’s mine they just look at me like they know I’m going to fuck it up, _but I’m not._ ”

“Oh,” Youngjae says. “I’m sorry.” He’s only known Daehyun for a couple of weeks, but something in his gut gives him the full confidence to tell him, “I don't think you're going to fuck it up.”

Daehyun looks at him. Like, _really_ looks at him, and Youngjae doesn’t shrink away or stare at his plate or burn up into ashes because Daehyun’s got him captivated and his lip is doing that wobbly thing that happens just before people cry and his eyes are glistening and Youngjae wonders how often he’s told he’s not going to mess up, wonders if he’s going to be able to maintain his sad attempt at professional distance from Daehyun.

Youngjae holds up his glass. “To not fucking up,” he proposes, and a smile breaks onto Daehyun’s face again.

They toast.

.

They drink.

Their conversation wanders and drifts as though carried on a current -- they find the things that they had in common in childhood, and the things that set them apart. Youngjae is a Seoulite first and foremost, born and raised in the city, hardened by its rough edges and cracks in the sidewalks but still able to appreciate its beauty, still appreciative of its beauty. Daehyun shifted around with his family when he was younger, a wanderer, inherently optimistic and eager for change.

Youngjae’s family traveled a lot; his older brother Youngwon now lives in Australia. Daehyun’s family never really left the country, never felt the need to; they lived by the ocean and met all sorts of people coming in from out of town or overseas who wanted to eat at their restaurant. Daehyun dreams about going on a food tour of the world; Youngjae tells him it’d be nice to come along so he can take pictures.

In middle school, they both wanted to be singers.

“But I was way too into gaming to really devote any time to it,” Youngjae remembers fondly. He thinks back on his days as a highly-ranked gamer in the Starcraft world. “I thought I would become a professional gamer, too.”

Daehyun laughs, bright and unrestrained. It makes warmth furl around Youngjae’s lungs pleasantly.

“What? I could have done it -- and imagine all the fame, the girls, the money,” Youngjae protests, smirking.

“The girls,” Daehyun repeats, looking sly with his eyes narrowed and cheeks rounded in a grin. “You want someone to call you oppa?”

“Why didn’t you pursue becoming a singer?” Youngjae asks, instead of answering that question, because the heat in Daehyun’s eyes is doing something to him.

“I wanted to eat,” Daehyun responds, laughing again. “I wanted to cook. I spent all my time at the restaurant when I should have been going to auditions or at least to noraebang. Plus, you should have seen me in my middle school days. My mom says I grew into my face, but…”

He trails off, humming, winding pasta onto his fork.

“You did,” Youngjae says without thinking. “I mean, you’re really--” He stops, reassesses, and takes a sip of his wine. Daehyun ducks his eyes and grins, and when he looks up again it’s to twirl another bite of pasta onto his fork and hold it up for Youngjae to try.

“Thanks,” Daehyun says. “Now try this. It’s delicious.”

Youngjae bites. His teeth slide along the fork, his lips close around the food, and Daehyun’s watching him with his lips parted, and the wine is nearly empty. It feels a bit like falling.

“It’s good,” Youngjae murmurs, sitting back.

“We should do more of this,” Daehyun says. “Find the things we had in common when we were kids. That’s important. That’s, like relationship foundation stuff. It makes it more real, doesn’t it?”

Youngjae nods dumbly, that warmth around his chest and lungs suddenly too restrictive. It makes it more real, because this isn’t real.

He just needs to keep reminding himself of that.

.


	4. Chapter 4

Two weeks until the wedding, and Himchan wants to buy him a new suit. Himchan, as Best Man, feels it is absolutely necessary that everyone under his charge -- mostly Youngjae -- looks dressed to kill at the wedding.

“I know you’re going to say everything is too expensive,” Himchan says, pushing Youngjae through the department store doors. “So it’s my gift to you. It’s your birthday soon.”

“My birthday’s in January,” Youngjae complains, trying to dig his heels in, but Himchan can be quite the brute when he wants to be, and manages to wrangle him onto the escalator to go up to the men’s section. Youngjae won’t need a tux like Himchan (thank god), but he showed his friend his other suits and only just saved both garments from being burned in a pile on his bed from his friend’s look of utter disgust.

“And mine’s in April,” Himchan says. “What’s your point?”

“It’s Fall. You could have said you were getting it for me for Christmas, or something.”

“Yeah, well,” Himchan sniffs, manhandling him off of the escalator, “maybe I’m getting you something else for Christmas.”

“Oh,” Youngjae says. “Goody.”

“Don’t be a brat.”

“I don’t need a new suit! The ones I have are just fine.”

“ _Please_ ,” Himchan says, rolling his eyes. They’ve reached some sort of suit enclosure. Youngjae is surrounded by crisp shirts and jackets and slacks and racks of ties on all sides and there’s no escape, now, especially since Himchan is already pulling things off the racks. A sales associate comes by, a younger man who can’t have graduated college yet, and Himchan says, “Here, my friend wants to try these,” placing the hangers of clothes in the associate’s arms.

“I don’t even like that color--” Youngjae tries to protest, shrugging at the bewildered associate.

Himchan continues like he hadn’t even spoken. “You could wear one of the ones you have, I guess,” he says slowly, but it’s building into something more. “You could show up next to Daehyun -- who _I guarantee_ will look ten times better than he already looks when he’s all dressed up in a nice, slim suit -- and look like you just rolled out of bed. If you’re looking for sympathy, and pity, then maybe that’s the way to go. If you’re looking to make Junhong think he made the right choice breaking up with you, then maybe that’s the way to go--”

“Hey!”

Himchan grabs a few more shirts and jackets from the racks and places them again in the associate’s arms. “If you want Junhong to look at you and to think _damn! I really missed my shot,_ then you’re going to try on all these things I picked out for you and you’re going to show them off and we’re going to pick just _one suit out_ that will do it for you. Just one suit. You’ll look like a 10. You’ll look like a fuckin’ _fourteen_. Also, maybe you’ll get lucky with Daehyun.”

“Hey!” Youngjae yells again, too startled to be angry. “You don’t -- get to -- Jesus, how are you Junhong’s Best Man _and_ my best friend? You’d be such a dirty politician.”

“People skills,” Himchan says.

“Slippier than a snake,” Youngjae hisses.

“Speaking of snakes,” Himchan says. “Have you seen Daehyun’s?”

Youngjae blushes beet red, and Himchan laughs, clapping him on the back.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“It’s _none of your business._ ”

Himchan’s eyes glitter in amusement. “Have you held hands yet? Kissed? C’mon -- Man, I love Yongguk but I need some more juice in my life, you know? Give me something I can suck on.”

“Oh my god,” Youngjae groans, just as Himchan is pushing him and the associate toward the dressing rooms. The associate quickly hangs everything up for Youngjae in an empty room with slats in the door, and then he leaves. Himchan stays just outside, probing him for information.

“So? Have you? Do his big pillow lips hold up in court?”

“We haven’t--” Youngjae tries, but he can’t bring himself to lie, blushing again even though no one’s watching. He pulls his shirt over his head and then slips on one of the dress shirts, busying himself with buttoning it up. “We’ve kissed, but that’s it.”

“Details, Youngjae, come on.”

As he changes into a suit, Youngjae thinks back on a few nights ago, after the Italian restaurant. His cheeks flame remembering it, accompanied by a burning dread in his gut.

They’d kissed.

It had been wonderful. It had been too brief, too chaste; not enough.

They’d split dessert. Tiramisu and vanilla ice cream, sweet and silky and the perfect ending to a delicious meal. Daehyun took the check again, and the receipt, and they walked out together, Daehyun insisting that he walk Youngjae home. The weather was perfect. Everything was perfect.

They meandered, not in any hurry for the night to end, and Youngjae remembers how the backs of their hands had brushed against each other, electric shocks forming between them, how much he wanted to take his hand and run.

In the end, Daehyun brought him to the entrance of his apartment complex. Youngjae turned to fit his key card into the slot and when he looked back at Daehyun, he was close, so close. He felt the hand with his key card fall to his side and then Daehyun was cupping his face, and they were closing in on each other, and the wall was against Youngjae’s back.

He smelled like spiced wine and vanilla. The sounds of the city fell away the longer Youngjae looked, the longer he waited, breath held. Daehyun’s lips were a dark, dusky rose, and his cheeks were flushed, and his eyes kept dropping, flickering down, like he was nervous, like he wasn’t sure what to do. Youngjae wanted to crash into him like a wave.

Daehyun whispered, “Can I kiss you?”

His breath ghosted across Youngjae’s lips like their own kiss, and Youngjae shuddered and nodded.

He wanted to feel something; Daehyun made him feel so many things he wasn’t ready to feel. He thought of Junhong. He thought of the wedding. He thought of their agreement.

“For practice, right?” Youngjae whispered back, closing his eyes. He felt Daehyun freeze. He felt him move almost imperceptibly closer. He felt him press his lips to Youngjae’s in a soft, innocent kiss, no more than skin against skin, and then it was gone.

Youngjae wanted to cry, he wanted to reach for it, but the moment had passed like a startled bird taking flight.

Daehyun’s hands traced down his face and down his sides and held onto his before letting go. “Yeah,” he said, smirking. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? Good night, Youngjae.”

He left. Youngjae went inside. He drank another glass of wine and went to bed, and didn’t wake until the next afternoon.

“Dude,” Himchan says, interrupting his thoughts. “Was it that bad? How’s the suit look?”

Youngjae sighs, opens the door, and shows him with his arms outstretched.

“No,” Himchan says, wrinkling his nose. “Try the navy one. With the white shirt and pink tie. It goes with the theme of the wedding but will still stand out. So, you kissed?”

“Yeah.” Youngjae slowly changes into Himchan’s suggestion. “It was -- nice.”

“Nice,” Himchan repeats, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. “How were his lips?”

“Soft,” Youngjae remembers, touching his own lips.

“Was there tongue?”

“No.”

“Youngjae! What’s the point of a fake boyfriend if you can’t for-real-kiss and for-real-fuck?”

“I don’t know.” Youngjae opens the door again, showing Himchan the outfit and even spinning in a slow circle when he gestures. “It feels cheap,” Youngjae says.

“The suit, or taking advantage of the situation you’ve found yourself in?”

“The latter.”

“Youngjae, sometimes you’ve just got to let yourself live a little.” Himchan’s eyes light up. “This is nice -- it’s really nice. It goes really well with your crazy Snow White complexion. We might have to get the jacket taken in a little, but I think it’s nice.”

“I don’t want to take advantage of Daehyun,” Youngjae says, turning to look at himself in the mirror. Himchan’s right. He looks good.

“It’s not taking advantage. It’s two hot dudes getting off with other, no strings attached. It’s amazing. How often are you going to have that? Here, try this tie.”

Himchan hands him another pink tie, skinnier than the one he’s wearing and patterned over with dark polka dots. Youngjae switches it out, and it makes the outfit seem more...him.

“You like it,” Himchan says knowingly, smirking in his own smugness.

“I do,” Youngjae says, not even trying to be snarky about it. “I don’t know if it’s a fourteen, but it’s definitely an improvement.”

“The wonders of a good suit,” Himchan murmurs. “Anyway, you should go for it. I mean, with Daehyun. I mean, who’s going to say no to you? Have you _seen_ yourself?”

Youngjae frowns, looking again in the mirror. He’s never been anything special, not a model like Junhong, but now that he’s all dressed up, he can kind of see what Himchan’s getting at. He’s not bad to look at -- he’s slimmed down over the years and it’s resulted in a chiseled jawline, and Himchan wasn’t joking about his Snow White complexion.

“I guess it’s been a while,” Youngjae admits.

“That’s the spirit,” Himchan says gleefully. “B-plus, A-minus, remember? Maybe he’s a solid A in the sack.”

.

 


	5. Chapter 5

“What even is this?” Youngjae mumbles, picking up some sort of blunt, fat vegetable that’s in a display with a bunch of other blunt fat vegetables and holding it up to investigate. It’s pale and dense and there are holes running through it. He sniffs it, and it doesn’t smell like anything in particular.

“It’s lotus root,” Daehyun says, taking the root from his hand and peering into it for some reason Youngjae can’t discern before placing it back in the pile. “You’ve never seen it before like that?”

“I think when I told you _I microwave_ , you overestimated my skills in the kitchen,” Youngjae says. He picks the root back up again. They are in a small grocery store near Daehyun’s apartment; he’d wanted to get a few things before they went back to his place to start on dinner, so Youngjae met him here. Truthfully, he's a little excited -- he's never had anyone cook for him other than his mother, maybe, and Junhong had fewer skills in the kitchen than even Youngjae.

“Do you like it? I can make a simple side-dish with it,” Daehyun says.

Youngjae shrugs. “I don’t want to mess up the menu you have in your head.”

Daehyun smiles, and the way his face scrunches up now is familiar. “I’m not making a feast or anything. I’m literally just making, like, a stew and some sides and stuff. I just thought it’d be nice to have something simple so we can talk about our gameplan at the wedding, you know? It’s so soon.”

The wedding is a week away. The date is greyed out on Youngjae’s calendar in his phone. He keeps scrolling to it, and then scrolling past it, and then back to it, wondering if he’ll be able to make it through the ceremony without: a) getting incredibly plastered, and b) making a total fool of himself. And he’s fully aware that neither of those things are contingent upon the other.

Junhong picked a day close to his own birthday for the ceremony. It’s like a double punch to Youngjae’s gut, a swift one-two in the middle of October.

“Yeah,” he says, feeling the air rush out of him at the single word.

Daehyun puts the lotus root into his hand basket and moves on. Even though Youngjae follows him, he still feels rooted in place. The wedding is soon. That means his time with Daehyun will be over soon, too. He wonders when the change happened, when he realized he didn’t want Daehyun to be temporary. It seemed to happen overnight -- well before the chaste kiss they exchanged.

But Daehyun keeps talking about the agreement, about the wedding. Bright smiles when he shares with Youngjae he’s always been a fan of practical jokes.

And isn’t this just that? A labor-intensive joke. This isn't real for Daehyun and doesn't have any more substance than a well-loved, pre-determined fairytale.

“Daehyun--”

Youngjae stops because he can’t get any other words out, caught by Daehyun’s stare, at the curve of his lips. It makes a twist of jealousy and anger and desire flare up suddenly in his gut, and it’s the most he’s felt since Junhong left him. Something sparks inside of him. He just wants to feel something other than empty and sad.

He just wants to forget that Junhong broke his heart into pieces and no one -- least of all himself -- bothered to pick any of them up. He thinks of Himchan, then, and the conversation they had in the dressing rooms, and the impending finality of his and Daehyun’s agreed-upon relationship. If he wants a distraction, he's got the perfect situation here, just like Himchan said.

“Yeah?” Daehyun asks him with a little tilt to his head. They’re by the eggs. Youngjae grabs a carton and puts them into the hand basket, too.

“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head, trying on a smile. It feels like it’s stretching his face. He hasn’t consciously expended the effort to flirt in a very long time. “Just -- I’m excited for dinner.” When he draws his hand out of the basket, he lets his fingers drift over Daehyun’s arm, and Daehyun stares at him, eyes narrowing.

“You’re being weird,” Daehyun says, pointed and forward.

“ _Tch_!” Youngjae blushes as they start to walk again. “I’m not. Someone’s cooking for me! That’s really exciting. No one’s done that for me, before.”

“Well,” Daehyun says. “I cook for everyone.”

“Gee, that makes me feel special,” Youngjae says, quickly falling back into their routine of harmless banter.

Daehyun laughs. “Aw, come on. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“ _I cook for everyone_ ,” Youngjae imitates. “I’m Daehyun and I’m _so_ amazing at cooking. I make food that tastes like an orgasm in your mouth.”

“What?” Daehyun says, just at Youngjae freezes and blushes harder, realizing what he’s just said.

“I mean--”

“I don’t think food should taste like an orgasm,” Daehyun says critically. “Like, I don’t really see the appeal of cheesecake that tastes like spunk.” He makes a face. “But _orgasmic_? Okay. I can support that.”

“Semantics,” Youngjae squeaks.

“You’ve set me up to fail, Youngjae,” Daehyun sighs, strolling down the aisle again. Youngjae falls naturally to his side, knocking elbows with the one unburdened by the basket. “Now if I don’t make you feel like you want to orgasm, you’re going to think I can’t cook.”

.

Daehyun’s apartment is a walk-up above the his bar. When Youngjae realizes this, he makes them stop outside of the door and rounds on him, surprised and confused.

“You live here,” Youngjae says, eyes large. Daehyun hums. “But -- that night at the bar. You could have just -- brought me upstairs?”

Daehyun shrugs, the plastic bag in his hand crinkling. “You wanted to go home,” he says. “You would have woken up in a stranger’s bed and freaked out and I would have probably, like, stubbed my toe on my coffee table in the living room waking up and getting off the couch and there just -- would have been a lot of confusion, I think.”

“What if I hadn’t run into you that day? _Literally_. On the sidewalk? We never would have seen each other again.” The thought makes him queasy.

Daehyun smiles at him, small and sure, and Youngjae’s heart flutters in his chest. “I don’t know about that,” he says, before turning around again and letting them into the building through the door at the side of the bar.

Youngjae follows him up the steps, mind churning with thoughts that are half-formed and confused. 

When they are inside the apartment, Daehyun sets Youngjae up on the couch and heads into the kitchen, distractedly calling over his shoulder that Youngjae can feel free to turn on the television, or look through his pictures, or whatever. But Youngjae watches him go into the kitchen and don an apron, and a warmth he hasn't felt in a long time spreads through him like osmosis, trickling into the tips of his fingers and toes and calming him.

Daehyun's apartment is organized, put together, clean. It’s more spacious than Youngjae’s (he’s got a separate room that’s his bedroom, for one) and it feels a bit like stepping into a picture in a magazine. Everything fits together -- the furniture, the color scheme, the artwork on the walls. It smells like Youngjae expected it to smell, like sweet rice and faint hints of mint and something more earthy.

“So -- how we met -- what about we reached for the same book at the bookstore and it started from there?” Youngjae poses from his place on Daehyun’s couch in the living room. He can see him working in the kitchen, at the counter behind the small breakfast bar, chopping things, sorting things, humming. He flips through a book on Daehyun’s coffee table he finds that seems to be a collection of photos of all the ramen shops that exist in Tokyo. It's easy to talk to Daehyun like this, in his apartment he has so carefully put together.

“Nah,” Daehyun says. “We’d have to, like, know each other’s favorite books and be able to talk about them and stuff. Plus, I don’t do very much reading unless it’s comics or recipes or writing about food.”

“That totally counts as reading,” Youngjae insists. “How about we met at a party?”

“We don’t have any mutual friends,” Daehyun says.

“It was a big party,” Youngjae says. He gets up and walks over to the kitchen again, leaning his elbows on the counter and peering over it to watch Daehyun work. There are two stools lined up at the bar, and he toes one of them closer in order to climb onto it.

“Who are you going to say went with you? You don’t just go to big parties alone, do you? Someone will think that's fishy.”

He’s chopping vegetables and throwing them into a pot bubbling on the stove. The stew is starting to give off a spicy, hearty scent, and Youngjae salivates staring at it.

“No one’s going to ask so closely,” Youngjae says, pouting.

Daehyun wipes his hands off on his apron and takes a spoon and dips it into the stew, holding it up for Youngjae with a hand cupped underneath it just in case. “How’s it taste?”

Youngjae tries it. The flavor bursts onto his tongue. It’s rich and just peppery and spicy enough to be interesting but not overpowering. “Delicious,” he says readily, and Daehyun flashes him that smile. Youngjae’s stomach does somersaults.

“We met at the zoo,” Daehyun says with a huge grin. “By the reptile house. You almost fell into the alligator tank but I saved you!”

“That’s not even--” Youngjae begins, before catching on and snickering. “Fine. No -- We met because you saved me from being robbed. Some guy took my wallet and you saw so you chased him down! I was so grateful I immediately took you out for a coffee.”

Daehyun clucks his tongue. “Doesn’t sound like something I would do.”

“Aw,” Youngjae complains.

“Blind date?”

“That’s so old school. No. Online? We joined the same team but you suck at MMORPGs.”

“Coffee shop? You took my drink.”

“Asking for directions to a restaurant, but I ended up walking you there and staying for dinner.”

“Or maybe--” Daehyun begins, putting all the dirtied dishes into the sink and ducking his eyes for a moment. Youngjae holds his breath as Daehyun says, “Maybe -- You picked me up at the bar. You thought I was the bartender. Kept coming back to me for drinks. Normally you’re not the type to look for a casual hook-up but that night you were trying to prove something to yourself. You weren’t expecting anything...lasting. But let’s face it, I was weak against you from the start. You took me home, or I took you home. In the morning, you didn’t want to leave, and I didn’t want to leave. We just -- didn’t want to leave each other. So we went out for brunch, and then we kept going out for brunch. When your friends asked, you never knew what to call me -- we weren’t just dating, but you weren’t ready for a boyfriend, so that’s why they never knew. How’s that?”

He looks up, the smile now unsteady on his face, and Youngjae’s resolve breaks.

Here in Daehyun's apartment with the promise of dinner it is hard for it not to feel like home, like maybe he belongs, and the intensity of it strikes through him quickly, and he is weak against it. 

He's desperate for anything that will make him forget the utter stillness of his heart for the past two years. He's built a wall around the pieces and hardened himself against anyone who tried to break through his barriers, with always the same excuses -- he's not ready, he's still in love with Junhong, he's not good enough for anyone else.

But here is Daehyun in front of him, with his bright eyes and hopeful smile, and Youngjae breaks through the barriers himself in a single charge. He wants to feel something deep and meaningful, and he wants to feel it with Daehyun. He doesn’t care if it’s temporary -- he _needs_ it. Needs the emotion and the release. Needs to know he can still feel anything at all.

“Oh,” Youngjae whispers. “That’s perfect.”

.

Dinner never makes it to the table.

Daehyun’s bedroom is just as organized as the rest of his apartment, only the covers are mussed from the morning. He doesn't bother to make his bed, and that tiny fact makes Youngjae melt a little more. It makes it easy for them to slip between the sheets, touching and testing and careful before Youngjae makes a desperate noise between his teeth.

Daehyun’s skin radiates heat and burns deliciously against his own. His bed is huge and they get swallowed up by the sheets. Youngjae’s drunk -- off the soju and beer, off his own nerves, off Daehyun.

Daehyun sets him off.

He thinks, _this is it. Better make the most of it,_ and he dives into the heady rush of sex. Their bodies fit together and slide apart and come together again, and Youngjae’s head spins with it, with the way Daehyun’s gasping, with how good he feels. His spine is made of frets and Daehyun plays him like an instrument, and maybe it shouldn’t feel this good, to let go, to surrender.

But it does, and it’s too late.

They fall asleep after, sweaty and sticky but uncaring, limbs forming knots and Daehyun’s plush lips at his throat. There is something churning now where guilt forms and makes a home deep inside your gut, but Youngjae resolves to wait until morning to let it all come crashing down around him.

.


	6. Chapter 6

The sun streams in through the slatted shades of Daehyun’s bedroom window in the morning and illuminates the paths of dust motes in the air drifting lazily around in the beams of light.

Youngjae does not want to wake up, is content to feel safe and peaceful in a cocoon of warmth in bed. He keeps his eyes closed, letting himself revel a bit in the calm. Daehyun’s breath brushes across his cheek rhythmically, the other man still sound asleep, and Youngjae inches just that bit closer, until his skin tingles from the touch of Daehyun’s, bare and silky and warm against his.

Daehyun exhales, humming softly, and then he shifts under the covers, rolling over and tucking himself back against Youngjae. Youngjae’s arm drifts up to fold over Daehyun’s small waist. They fit together like this, comfortable, but the lazy movements awoke Youngjae fully, and he opens his eyes.

He sees the gentle curve of Daehyun’s shoulder first, as he traces the line with his eyes down Daehyun’s side, taking in the expanse of bronzed skin against white sheets. Like this, Daehyun is beautiful. He always is, but especially now -- soft and peaceful and unaware of the turmoil quickly brewing in Youngjae’s mind as he thinks back on their night.

The sex had been good. Daehyun had been so attentive, so wonderful, but now that it is the morning and the sun is shedding light onto their bodies, Youngjae isn’t sure it was such a good idea.

Rather than feeling sated and cared-for like he did moments ago, Youngjae just feels empty, though regret and hot embarrassment and cloying shame rapidly fill the vacuum of emptiness inside of him.

He’d been so desperate -- to be held and told he’d be okay, to be wanted. He’d thrown himself at Daehyun, helped along by the drinks they’d shared, and Daehyun had caught him, slowly brought him down until he was nestled in his sheets.

“Who’s going to say no to you?” he hears Himchan saying in his mind. Daehyun certainly hadn’t, but now Youngjae isn’t sure if this is what he’d wanted.

He’s so tired of being alone, but what good will come of this? It's temporary and will be over before it can even really start. Maybe that's okay.

Maybe that means Youngjae won't have the chance to fall deeper into the well he's found himself in. He'd been hesitant in the beginning to let Daehyun open up to him because in a way, he knew this would happen. He knew he'd gather up all the little things Daehyun says and knows and thinks, his idiosyncrasies and the habits that drive his friends crazy, collect them into a jar he'd have to find space for in his heart. 

Beside him, Daehyun is starting to wake up, too. Youngjae bites his bottom lip, watching how Daehyun’s breathing quickens, how he stretches underneath the covers before turning back and blinking blearily at Youngjae. He smiles, and Youngjae forgets to breathe.

“Good morning,” Daehyun mumbles, settling again.

“Good morning,” Youngjae whispers.

“Breakfast?” Daehyun asks.

“Sure.”

He doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. Daehyun sighs, and then he’s moving, away from Youngjae, away from the bed. Youngjae reigns in his desire to reach out for him, to drag him back under the covers.

They had sex, and that’s all.

Youngjae shouldn’t expect anything else, right?

.

Himchan’s voice is harried and gruff when he picks up and his words all come out in a rush: “Will this conversation take less than five minutes because it’s four days to the wedding and Junhong picks _now_ of all times to freak out about the cake he picked.”

“Um,” Youngjae says. “Oh, I don’t want to bother you. Best Man duties. It’s fine.”

“I’m sorry,” Himchan says, softening for a moment. “I just really can’t take this call right now. Can you talk to Jongup about whatever this is?”

“Sure,” Youngjae agrees, even though he knows he would never talk to Jongup about something like this.

“Or send me an email? Or something. I’m trying to prioritize the things on my list that way. I’m sorry -- ugh, I have to go. The baker is back. Oh, he looks angry. Sorry! I have to go. _No, I don’t have a document that shows verbatim what words were exchanged between you and the wedding planner--_ ”

The line drops. Youngjae sighs into the phone. He’s on break again, hanging out in the stairwell where he’s finding himself more and more often when at the studio. He should put up a name plaque or something. _Yoo Youngjae’s Step._ It would go on the third step up from the platform.

He’s supposed to meet Daehyun again for dinner tonight. It’ll be the last time before the wedding. And then -- and then whatever game they’re playing is over.

He doesn’t want it to be over.

His phone buzzes in his hand. Youngjae turns it over to stare at the screen, thinking it's Himchan calling him back, but Daehyun’s face smiles up at him instead, cheeks full of food. He’d taken it at the Italian restaurant. He lets the call go to voicemail.

He’s not avoiding Daehyun. Never mind that this call is the second today Youngjae has let go. He just doesn’t know what to say to him.

It’s dangerous talking to him. Even now, Youngjae imagines how they might have bantered, how Daehyun’s voice would have sounded over the phone, and feels his heart pick up speed, excited over nothing. His mind drifts back to the other sounds he knows Daehyun makes, when he’s being touched, when he’s chasing pleasure, and he thinks of the way Daehyun’s skin looked against those sheets, how lovely, how it made him _want_.

There’s no way he’s getting out of this unscathed. There’s no way he’s getting out of this without his heart being wrenched out of his chest.

He’s not avoiding Daehyun; he’s protecting himself.

His phone buzzes again, two short pulses, and Youngjae looks at the message Daehyun’s sent.

_hey, are you okay? just wanted to say i think we should go to dominic for dinner. let me know if you have objections :)_

He doesn’t answer right away.

If he goes to dinner tonight, he’s going to wind up in bed with Daehyun again. He’s going to find a way to convince himself it’s a good idea, because he’d loved it the first time around. He’d craved it like Daehyun was some piece of meat on the grill. And if he goes -- he’s not going to want to leave, in the morning.

If he doesn’t go, and doesn’t fall into Daehyun’s sheets, and doesn’t fall even more for this man who was supposed to be a bought body, there’s no chance he’ll have to face rejection.

Because that’s what terrifies him most: rejection.

His fingers are flying on his screen before the words really process through his mind.

_sorry. work picked up. i don’t think i can make it to dinner :(_

Daehyun’s response is almost immediate.

_aw that’s okay. if you have time you can swing by the bar in the next few days then and we can finalize operation: fake boyfriend_

It feels horrible lying to him.

What a mess.

 _that sounds good,_ Youngjae sends, but he’s not going to go.

.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's short :((( sorry


	7. Chapter 7

On the day of the wedding, Youngjae wakes up late, spills coffee all over himself in his kitchen, has to take a second shower, and puts the jacket of his suit on inside-out the first time around, distracted and jittery.

He doesn’t even remember taking the cab to the hotel where they’re holding the ceremony, feeling a bit like he’s been teleported into the event hall that has been transformed into a tasteful and simple wedding venue. Rows of chairs have been set up into two distinct sections with an aisle running down the middle, and the flowers are white and pink and the accents are a light grey. A glass of champagne in hand, he winds his way to a seat with all of Junhong and his partner’s ( _Minho_ , Youngjae is going to start using, because it’s time to grow up and acknowledge that he exists and that Youngjae’s here, at their wedding) guests milling about.

He recognizes a few faces, but it seems that in the two-and-a-half years since they broke up, Junhong’s circle of friends expanded, and everyone is beautiful.

Youngjae takes his champagne and adjusts his tie and goes to sit in one of the seats near the back of the set-up. Then he reconsiders, realizing that this is close to where Junhong’s going to enter, so he moves towards the middle.

He hasn’t talked to Daehyun since the last time the other man tried to contact him, inviting him out to dinner again with the promise of some important message he needed to deliver. When was the last time they even mentioned the wedding? Will Daehyun even come? 

He just hopes he’ll run into Yongguk or Jongup at some point.

The champagne glass empties quickly, and not a moment later someone is tapping on his shoulder from behind. He turns, trying to keep the disappointment from showing on his face when he sees it’s Himchan.

“Expecting someone else?” Himchan says, grinning. He looks good -- the tux fits him well and he’s styled his hair up, and his cheeks are bright with excitement. “Where’s Daehyun?”

“Oh,” Youngjae says abruptly. He jumps over his words, but Himchan doesn’t seem to notice. “He’s, ah, he’s--”

“He knows where you’re sitting right? Because Junhong wants to see you. Before we start. Is that okay?”

“Oh,” Youngjae says again. “I guess.”

Himchan grins at him, and Youngjae’s stomach twists into knots.

He follows Himchan out of the hall and across it and into another room, where the small crowd of men and women in tuxedos parts and reveals Junhong in his own black tux, sitting on a pouf with one eye lined and the other still bare.

“You found him!” one of the women says, clapping her hands together. Youngjae thinks her name is Hyosung, but he doesn’t much care to verify, not with the way Junhong is looking at him. He feels like he’s been captured in a photograph, the moving parts around them both blurry and grey, as Himchan and Hyosung usher the wedding party to wait outside.

“Two minutes,” Himchan says at the door. Youngjae has his back to him, though, and only sees Junhong nod, a tiny jerk of his chin, and then they are alone.

He hasn't seen Junhong in forever. He's expecting the Junhong who breaks up with him over and over in his memories, the Junhong who folded himself over Youngjae on their couch to get comfortable, the Junhong who wasn't sure if this agency would take him, or that campaign, or that photographer.

Junhong looks amazing, but he doesn’t look anything like the Junhong Youngjae remembers. This Junhong has a stronger jawline, angles in his face that throw shadows onto his cheeks. He’s longer and leaner and doesn’t hunch his shoulders anymore, and he’s filled out.

The past few years have been good to him.

“Did you come with anyone?” Junhong finally asks him, gesturing at another seat by him near the vanity table. Youngjae goes to it, sitting at the very edge of the cushion, trying to determine what it is about _looking_  at Junhong that’s different.

“Um,” Youngjae says. “I invited someone but -- he’s -- I think he’s going to get here later,” he lies.

Junhong smiles, his hand twitching briefly like he’s thinking about reaching over to touch Youngjae but then he thinks better of it. “That’s good,” he murmurs. “That’s good you brought someone.”

Youngjae’s heart sinks down to his stomach. He wishes he hadn’t been such a coward over the past few days, suddenly. He wishes he’d just gone to dinner and told Daehyun --

What? That he wanted to call the whole charade off? That he liked him?

Junhong says, “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah.”

“I wasn’t sure you were going to come at all. Himchan suggested it, and then Yongguk, you know? I didn’t mean to close you out of my life, after -- I mean. I just mean I didn’t want for us to never see each other again. I didn’t want that. I'm sorry this took so long. I’m glad you came.”

His knee is bouncing where he sits. Junhong’s eyes are large and bright and looking at Youngjae, and Youngjae realizes what it is that’s so different about his face now.

Looking upon it doesn’t give Youngjae anything more than a sense of fondness, nostalgia, and an appreciation for Junhong’s aesthetic. All this time, he’s been remembering Junhong, remembering their relationship, holding him stagnant in his mind and letting him become a poisonous clot within his chest. He breathes in, the clot beginning to break down, and it feels like he’s inhaling clean air for the first time in a long while.

“You want my blessing,” Youngjae says with a small smile in return.

Junhong shakes his head. “It’s not so much that, Youngjae. It’s -- _I’m getting married._ To Minho. And I _love him._ I just want -- to apologize if I isolated you or ignored you or hurt you more than I thought I did. It feels like a chance to -- start over. Start fresh. Doesn’t it? Or am I being selfish?”

It takes a moment for Youngjae to digest. But when the words register it is a bit like finding the exact right focus in the lens of his camera. It feels good, and like he can do something with this, and like this is something he was looking for.

“Start fresh,” Youngjae repeats, questioning. “Like, as friends?”

“If you want to,” Junhong says eagerly. “I would really like that, hyung. But I know it’s a lot to ask for. I just thought -- why not take the chance?”

“You want to take a chance on me?”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Junhong explains, lips curved into a grin.

He’s right. What’s the worst that can happen? He looks so much brighter now, beautiful in his tux and eyes half lined and basking in the happy energy of the ceremony that’s about to take place.

The door opens and Himchan’s voice interrupts Youngjae’s thoughts. “Two minutes are up! C’mon, we have to finish your make-up and everything.”

Youngjae stands. Junhong’s hand is in his before he can take that first step. He turns back to him, biting his lips.

“Do you think it’s possible? For us to be friends?” Junhong asks him, pleading.

“I think,” Youngjae says slowly, “It’ll be hard. But I’d like to try.”

Junhong beams at him. “Thank you.”

“You look great,” Youngjae tells him sincerely. “Minho’s a lucky guy.”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i lied about chapters sorry :(


	8. Chapter 8

Himchan pulls him to the side when they’re in the hallway, away from the entrance into the venue with a hand on his shoulder as he turns him around to face him. Inexplicably, he starts to straighten Youngjae’s tie.

Youngjae stands there before his friend and tries not to let the pressure building in his chest reach his eyes.

Junhong looked so much -- older. Matured and refined like wine. Junhong wants to try to be friends.

Youngjae's still not sure about the answer he gave him. In the hallway where the walls don't seem so thick and close, he lets the tightness in his chest realize into his irritation with the other man. It was selfish, like Junhong said, for him to ask Youngjae of this on the day of his wedding. But instead of lingering on the feeling and allowing it to fester, he consciously lets it go with a quick exhale, and it is replaced with thoughts of someone else.

Himchan says, “You okay?”

“I think so." He hadn't meant to be quite so gruff, but Himchan does not seem to mind.

“What did he want to talk about?”

Youngjae narrows his eyes at him, seeing through the attempt at subtlety, and Himchan coughs in kind, caught.

“Okay," he admits. "I know what he wanted to talk about. He didn’t tell me in so many words, but I guessed. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“It’s kind of...” Youngjae begins slowly, as Himchan moves on from his tie and brushes imaginary dust from his shoulders. “...a lot to take in. But I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”

Himchan smiles at him. And then he pinches his cheek.

“Hey!”

“You’ve grown up a lot,” Himchan praises.

Youngjae rubs at his red cheek. “You’re not that much older than I am.”

“Still,” Himchan says, sighing and looking back at the smaller dressing room where Junhong is waiting. “So where’s Daehyun?”

Youngjae blinks, feels his mouth fall open, but no sound or lies come out.

Himchan continues, “I took a quick peak while you guys were talking and didn’t see him anywhere?”

Youngjae keeps his hand at his cheek, mindful of his next few words. He wants tell Himchan _everything_ , suddenly, but the wedding is starting soon, and the timing isn’t right. The timing is never right, it seems. “He’s probably not coming,” Youngjae ends up saying, and Himchan’s hands tighten on his shoulders before dropping to his sides.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean -- I don’t know -- I messed up.”

“How? What? What happened?”

Himchan’s eyes are large with concern and curiosity.

Youngjae mutters, “We slept together.”

Sound gets swallowed up by the weight of Himchan’s stare. “Oh...kay? And that’s -- how is that--? Oh. _Oh_ , Youngjae. Are there feelings involved?”

Embarrassed, guts churning into knots, Youngjae nods, and Himchan’s brows dip in sympathy, his mouth heavy at the corners.

“And you slept together, and someone freaked out, and you probably ignored him for a few days, huh?”

“How did you--?” Youngjae gasps at the uncannily accurate recounting.

“You’re my friend,” Himchan says firmly. “I’m sorry. I should have known -- if I weren’t so busy -- Ah. It’s no excuse, but I wouldn’t have been all gung-ho about you sleeping with him casually like that if I’d known you actually _liked_ liked him. Oh, man. What a clusterfuck. And you haven’t spoken since?”

Youngjae nods again. Someone in a tux comes by, approaching Himchan, but Himchan just waves him away. “You should tell him,” he says.

“But it’s already been so long,” Youngjae reasons. “It’ll be awkward. The timing--”

“The timing’s never going to be right,” Himchan says. “Sometimes, you just have to go for the things you want.”

The music starts up then, a swell of strings in harmony to announce the start of the ceremony. Himchan later tells him that Minho wanted a four-piece quartet to play as they walked down the aisle. There’s a quiet rush of people entering the venue to take their seats within the little time they have left.

“Call him, text him. Ask him about the reception. If he comes, he comes. If not -- we’ll deal with it later.”

It’s not the most encouraging thing for Himchan to say in this moment, but Youngjae takes out his phone and looks down at the screen, willing Daehyun’s picture to pop up onto it. He'd already been considering it in the few seconds before this conversation began, and Himchan's words are the push he needs to make the decision. “Okay.”

Himchan ruffles his hair. “Okay. Good. Good luck. I’ve got to -- go to my place, but -- I really am sorry that I didn’t know. I hope it works out, but in any case we’ve got the open bar after this, right?”

Youngjae manages a smile, and they go inside.

.

He takes his seat near the middle in Junhong’s section and hits send on the message he typed. He fidgets. The seats are hard plastic and not particularly comfortable. In the front, Himchan is standing with the other members of the wedding party looking immaculate in his tux, and when Youngjae looks closer, he can see Yongguk in a seat in one of the first few rows, flashing a wide smile at Himchan.

He has a few moments to admire the way just a simple smile from Yongguk makes Himchan blush in the spotlight when he feels a tap on his shoulder, followed quickly by a, “Is this seat taken?”

Youngjae turns, and Daehyun is huffing where he stands, cheeks a little pink from exertion, body in a slim suit that is a dark, rich navy.

“What are you--?” Youngjae whispers, surprised, all the breath leaving him at seeing Daehyun here.

“Sorry I’m late,” Daehyun says, taking the seat next to Youngjae’s. “I got turned around on the way here.”

“Were you coming this whole time?” Youngjae asks him. He’s unable to stop gaping at him. He thought for sure he’d be dateless.

Daehyun takes the wedding program on his seat and fans himself, still breathing heavily. He swallows, his throat working as he evens out his breathing. “I said I’d be here, didn’t I? I know we haven’t -- connected in a bit but I thought, maybe, it would suck for you to be alone today. I’ll leave if you want me to.”

“Check your phone,” Youngjae tells him, and Daehyun looks at him quizzically but does as he’s told, Youngjae’s lungs contracting as he watches Daehyun read his message.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he says next, when he thinks Daehyun’s finished, and everything releases around his chest. He feels lighter.

Daehyun’s eyes form crescents as his cheeks dimple in his smile. “You texted you had something to tell me. Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

Youngjae shakes his head, and then reconsiders and nods instead. Daehyun laughs, and the sound is bright and ringing.

“It’s the first part of what I wanted to tell you,” Youngjae says.

“What’s the next part?”

Youngjae’s ears burn with heat. Daehyun’s looking at him so intently, and he licks his lips, and Youngjae wants to lean forward and kiss him, so he does.

The little surprised gasp Daehyun makes against his mouth sends shivers down his back. Their lips part, and then the piece the string quartet is playing grows in volume, announcing the commencement of the walk down the aisle.

“Is there a third part?” Daehyun murmurs.

“Yes,” Youngjae says. “But they’re starting now.”

.

Youngjae cries during the wedding. He can’t help it. It’s okay, though, because he looks over and Daehyun’s crying too, and he doesn’t even _know_ Junhong.

He whispers this to him, after the couple exchange their kiss, and Daehyun whispers back, cheerfully defensive, “Weddings are just really beautiful. Don’t judge me; you’re crying, too!”

Up front, Himchan catches Youngjae’s eye as Junhong and Minho walk hand-in-hand back up the aisle, now married. Himchan winks.

When Daehyun brings his arm up to curl around Youngjae’s shoulders, Youngjae leans into him, acutely happy.

.

“You can see the whole city from here,” Daehyun says with appreciation.

They’re looking out over the roofs of Seoul. Junhong and Minho have opted to secure the garden bar situated on the roof of the same hotel to host their reception, and most of the guests have relocated up here.

It felt important for them to quickly grab a drink at the open bar and then meander towards the edge of the roof, where fewer people are gathered. They didn’t mention it to one another, but they moved together, like they both knew they needed the semi-privacy of the edge. Behind them is the reception, a celebration growing both in number and volume; before them is the city, the sun starting to dip between the tallest buildings in the area, and the mountains in the distance.

“It’s really something,” Youngjae agrees, sipping on his cocktail.

“Do you like hiking?” Daehyun asks him suddenly, turning to look at him, leaning against the rail that runs the perimeter of the roof.

“Not especially,” he admits, unsure why the question popped up. “Do you?”

“Ah,” Daehyun says. “I’m not really a huge fan either, but I was going to say that if _you_ are, we should go sometime. But since you’re _not_ , we can both save ourselves from the unnecessary physical exertion.”

Youngjae sputters, both pleased and amused, and Daehyun’s eyes crinkle up again. He’d missed him. They’ve only known each other for a few short weeks, but Daehyun already feels like someone he’s known forever. It’s like having the comfort of a long-time best friend mixed with the excitement of finding out all the cool and not-so-cool things about someone new.

“So what’s the third thing you wanted to tell me?” His eyes are positively shining. Youngjae tries not to read too much into that.

“Well,” Youngjae says. He turns to lean both elbows onto the rail and takes another sip of his cocktail, waiting for the burn to leave his throat before continuing and looking out at the horizon at first to avoid direct eye contact but then choosing to be brave. “I mostly want to apologize for -- treating you kind of bad over the last couple of days? I’m sorry I basically ignored you. I was -- trying to figure a few things out.”

Daehyun’s expression softens. He moves closer to Youngjae against the rail, the sleeve of his suit coming to brush up against his. “It’s -- fine. Did you figure them out?”

“I think I’m starting to,” Youngjae tells him, like it’s a secret. Maybe Daehyun will hold him accountable to it. Maybe he wants Daehyun to hold him accountable.

“Youngjae, I--”

“Wait,” Youngjae interrupts, and Daehyun stops talking, tilting his head in curiosity. “Sorry. I just need to say these things now, before I chicken out again. Okay?”

Daehyun nods. Youngjae imagines himself as a small flame being urged to grow brighter. The apology was like someone struck a match under him, and now he wants to bring everything to light.

“I keep going back to that night,” he starts quickly. “Dinner at your place. I keep thinking, was it a mistake? Did I totally mess things up? I thought I did.”

Daehyun’s shaking his head. Youngjae can’t tell if it’s because he’s disagreeing or because he doesn’t like what he’s hearing.

“Youngjae--”

“Please, hear me out.”

Daehyun falls silent again, finishing the rest of his drink quickly.

Youngjae takes a deep breath and says, “I probably shouldn’t have gotten caught up in that moment. I shouldn’t have slept with you--” Daehyun’s face falls. “--No. No, I mean! I should have told you how I really felt, before we slept together.”

He takes that pause to finish the rest of his own drink, and Daehyun looks at him the way he’s always wanted someone to look at him. Daehyun says, “I have something to tell you, too, but--”

Youngjae interrupts again. He knows he’s being rude, but what if Daehyun’s going to say what he fears he will? And the words are rolling out of him now, like an avalanche, and it is at once cathartic and terrifying. “I said it at the ceremony, but I need to say it again, and I need to be clearer: I don’t want you to leave. Not tonight, and not after tonight. I don’t want you to go, but I know you only agreed to be my fake boyfriend for the wedding, and now the wedding’s over, and now you’re free!”

He finishes on a hysterical note. He nearly hits himself in the face with his own glass when he tries to clap his hand against his mouth, afraid he's said too much.

Daehyun takes his glass from him and places both glasses on the ledge below the railing where a server will eventually clear them. Then, he takes Youngjae’s hand from his mouth and holds it over the rail.

“That morning I ran into you,” Daehyun begins, his voice low and carrying notes of regret and apology. “That morning I ran into you -- I was on my way back home, thinking about what would happen that night. Thinking about whether or not I'd see you again. I really wanted to see you again.”

Youngjae feels his jaw dropping open at the admission. “What?”

Color rises onto Daehyun’s cheeks as he rubs his thumb absently over the top of Youngjae’s hand. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t remember me in the morning. I was hoping you'd swing by the bar. I wanted a second chance.”

“What?” Youngjae asks again, feeling dumb about it.

Daehyun laughs then, but it is quiet and thoughtful. “And then I ran into you. You really didn’t remember me at all. I should have said something then, too, but you seemed so into this fake boyfriend thing, and I just -- went along with it. It was my second chance, and I didn’t want to lose it.”

The way Daehyun’s thumb is drawing warm circles over his skin is doing something to him, making him light-headed and fuzzy. He finally says, “That's crazy.”

The smile drops from Daehyun’s face, and his fingers fall away. “Yeah, I know. It's crazy. God, I was stupid. I should have asked you out properly. After that first date. But I didn't think -- you were _right there_ and I just -- jumped.”

Giddiness suddenly lances through him like an arrow, and Youngjae laughs, relieved. When Daehyun’s lips turn down even further into a frown, Youngjae reaches for his fingers again. They fit against each other, warm and dry.

“No,” he says to him, smiling and shaking his head. “No, no. You see? You wanting a second chance. Me _literally_ running into you. I would have gone back to the bar. We would have -- come together again, somehow. I really believe that. Or maybe I just read too many romance novels. But I think -- it's not crazy.”

He watches the way their fingers interlock in the open space over the rail, the city so far below them both. Daehyun leans into him, and Youngjae finds himself doing the same.

“I like you,” he confesses, finally. Maybe a little dark spot in the bottom corner of his heart will always love Junhong and the memories he gave him, but it’s small, and there’s so much of his heart left over to give.

“I like you, too,” Daehyun whispers back, and right now, as they move slowly closer together, Daehyun is all he can see.

“After tonight -- are you gonna stick around?” Youngjae asks, his words only for the space between them.

“You mean, like, for breakfast?”

Daehyun’s smiling again, and it makes Youngjae smile wider. “No, I mean. Like, _around_  around?”

“I can make really good chocolate chip pancakes? If you have all the stuff. I’m great at making them--”

“Daehyun! I’m trying to ask you if -- if you want to date me for real.”

Daehyun laughs, and it feels a bit like something precious and just for Youngjae. “I know. I’m only teasing you,” he says, and then he closes the distance between them and kisses him.

He kisses him until he is breathless, until his lips feel slick and hot, until he finally has to pull back to regain a brief moment of sanity as Daehyun moves from his lips to his neck. Youngjae groans, heat flaring up along his skin, as an idea pops into his head.

He’s feeling mischievous.

“Stop,” he pants, regretting it almost immediately when Daehyun straightens, concern in his eyes. He’d _really_ liked how Daehyun sucked the skin at his throat, his tongue soft and wet against him, but--

“Let’s start over,” Youngjae suggests excitedly.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean -- I picked you up in the bar. I thought you were the bartender.”

He watches realization dawn on Daehyun as he hears his own words spoken back to him. That first night. If things had been different. Second chances and groceries spilling everywhere. What if...?

Daehyun laughs. “You kept coming back for more,” he says, continuing the narrative.

“More _drinks_ ,” Youngjae clarifies, but his eyes are radiant and mirroring Daehyun’s.

Daehyun says with some degree of exasperation, rolling his eyes, “Sure. For _drinks_.” But he kisses Youngjae again, and Youngjae melts against him, distracted from his idea for only a second before he detaches himself with little effort and takes Daehyun’s hand.

He tells Daehyun that they have to leave now if they want to make it to the bar for happy hour.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :)

**Author's Note:**

> originally for this prompt: [daejae #7, fake relationship au](http://paperkrane.tumblr.com/post/94954606328/daejae-7-ill-let-u-take-the-reigns-on-this-one-ehhe)
> 
> [writing](http://andnowforyaya.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/andnowforyaya)


End file.
